I leaned forward and put my elbows on her desk. I crossed my hands and said softly, “I know for a fact that you were there last Sunday night because you were seen there, you and Ms. Beems, dancing in the buff with about eight other people around a red candle and singing for what, world peace?” I leaned back in my chair. The ball was in her glove.
Her face matched her hair. She unbent a paper clip in her lap and said: “I wasn’t there.”
“Come on, Myrna, you were seen! And I mean totally seen, with nothing left to the imagination, you and Ms. Beems, your alibi.”
She didn’t say anything for a moment, then, “What do you want, money?” She looked me straight in the eye. “What are you going to blackmail me for? I’m not a wealthy woman I’ve worked here for 33 years. This job is all that I have. It is my life. If I lose it, I have nothing, nothing at all.”
“I know that. I also know that you are a nice woman. A person who has always treated me kindly. I’m not here to blackmail you. I’m here to get some information that might help us find the stolen bowl. That’s all I’m concerned with, Myrna, really.”
She cast her eyes down at her lap and the bent paper clip. “What do you want?” She said this so quietly that I barely heard her.
“First, what was going on in the basement, and why can’t I get into those two locked rooms down there?”
“I don’t know anything about those locked rooms.” She paused, to gather strength, I suppose. “Sunday night.” She sighed and remained looking down. “It was one of our gatherings. We have them once a month. This one was to pray for one of our members who is in the hospital. She wasn’t feeling well for weeks so the doctor told her to go in for tests. We were praying for her return to good health.”
I nodded in assent. Then she continued.
“We shouldn’t have used the library. I deeply regret it now.” I could see that she was having a very difficult time talking about this. “It was a hastily called meeting so we couldn’t find a place. The only place available at such short notice was the room in the library basement,” she said. “I was foolish and I’ll never do it again.” She sighed. “All the doors were locked, all of the lights were out. I thought we wouldn’t be disturbed—or observed, especially by one of your students.”
Now I felt guilty. However, I had to forge on. “What is your group called? Is it a religious group?”
“No, we worship the sun and the earth. The only true things in life.”
“How long have you been a member?”
“When I started, the other women were very protective of their husbands at our rituals. So you can see that it was a long time ago.”
“I can’t believe that they are still not so.”
“That was kind, thank you.”
“Does your group have a name? Is this a national group?”
”Our sect was founded before your Christ. It isn’t an organized religion. It’s a group of people with similar views. We’re concerned with giving thanks to nature. We are called Ramaidens. The men are called Ramen.”
“Like the noodles? Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” She gave me a look that I deserved. I was unsuccessfully lightening the mood.
“Tell me about the theft. Why do you think it was taken?”
“I really don’t know.” she looked right at me as she said it.
“Myrna, try to think of a reason that someone would take the bowl. What could someone use it for? It would be too hard to sell. Anyone who bought it would know that it was stolen.”
“There are some people who believe that it could be used for the transport of spirits. I don’t believe this but there are some that do.”
“Who?”
“Seers, for one, and those people that channel other people’s spirits.”
“Do you know any of these people? Do you have their names?” She shook her head no.
“Thank you for your time.” As I walked out she said: “I hope you find him soon.” I waved and headed toward the front door.
What do they know that I don’t? I leaned on Myrna March and all I got was a nebulous thought that some seer or spiritualist might have grabbed the bowl. I’ll meet with the kids and see what ideas they might have. One of us is not as smart as a whole bunch of us.
* * *
We were at the Bar Bar for lunch. Ralphy and Jason were piling on the calories while the LaMonicas ordered their regular—salad, lo-cal dressing.
“Where do you think we should go now?” I asked no one in particular.
“Let’s see a seer,” Ralphy said between gulps of coffee and mouthfuls of burger. “Maybe just our going will teach us about the stuff they use, see if they have anything like our bowl on hand. It won’t hurt, will it Professor?”
“No, it won’t hurt. I don’t think it will be too costly. And, if it is, we’re still on MAW’s account, our insurance company benefactor. May I ask our charming researchers to find a seer for us to visit?”
“Sure, Professor,” Veronica said smiling.
“See if you can make a list of the closest ones. We don’t want to be traveling far, OK?”
“All right, Professor,” Monica replied. She turned to her sister and said: “I’m free next period so I’ll start on it,” Veronica nodded. They had finished eating and were getting up. They both finger waved goodbye, turned and left.
“Meet me at two in the library,” Monica continued the conversation with her sister as they were leaving the room, “and we’ll see what else we need to do.”
I told the boys: “I’m going back to my office and do some school things. We’ll meet here tomorrow for lunch and see what’s new.”
When I got back to my office, there was a letter on my desk from Ms. Beems. I opened it and read: “See me this afternoon. W. Beems.”
I looked at my desk for any other cryptic messages or important meetings that needed immediate attention—nothing except a notice about a change in the university dental plan prepayment policy.
“Fay, I’m going to the library. I shouldn’t be long,” I told our assistant.
“All right, Professor.”
* * *
“I wasn’t completely candid with you the last time we spoke,” Ms. Beems said. She was at her desk reading Publishers Weekly.
“Is this confession motivated by a discussion that you had with Ms. March?”
“Partly,” she said, “but also because I would like to have this mess resolved as quickly—and neatly—as possible. This theft doesn’t look good on my resume.”
“I didn’t know that you were looking for a job.”
“It’s an expression.” She folded her hands on her desk and gave me an executive-talking-to-an-employee look. “Your mucking around here is not helping anyone. I would like to know what I can do to get you out of my hair.”
“Well, first tell me what you think happened to the bowl. Who do you think took it? What good is it to anyone?”
“Like Myrna March said, it was probably a spiritualist of some kind who took it to be used in some ritual or other. I don’t think it was taken to be sold. That would be too hard to do.”
“A spiritualist? How would one of them know that we had this special bowl?”
“We have some books here, and there are more at city libraries, that mention the bowl and some show pictures. As with famous paintings, there are many places where you can read a description of our ‘jewel’ which means that anyone who is interested can find out about it and where it is located.”
I made a note to see if any other similar thefts have occurred recently. We might not be alone. We could use someone else’s research to help us.
“Do you think that someone in the library was involved? Can you think of anyone who would take it?” I asked.
“I can’t imagine anyone here who would do something like that.” She paused for a moment. “Did you hear about Dwayne?”
“No, what about him?” Dwayne was a nice guy who worked wit
h buildings and grounds. He’s been here longer than I have.
“He tendered his resignation yesterday. Although he’s a very nice person, I can’t see him easily getting a new job. He must be over fifty now.”
“Why? Did he say?”
She said: “He said he was looking for a change.”
Could this be a lead? Is he leaving because of the bowl?
Chapter 13
Jason’s Room
I’m lucky. I didn’t think so at first but I am. Even Thirty-two says I’m lucky. Yesterday, he said, “Jason, you lucked out with that place of yours.”
My room is on the third floor, near the corner, and overlooks the quad—the courtyard between the dorms. Originally, I wanted a room in the front so I could see the Kennedy walkway and watch all the action, if you get my drift.
That was my first thought but Thirty-two has a room in front and I go there to visit and I’m glad that I don’t live on that side. It’s so noisy. You can hear everyone walking by. I mean no one talks, it’s all shouting. The most stupid conversations are going on and I can hear the whole thing. I mean, who cares about who asked who out, big deal. Well OK, there could be a little jealousy since my time spent with the fairer sex is almost the same amount of time I spend with the President. But you know what I’m driving at.
Now, in my room, I have this view of the garden behind the dorms. It’s mostly vegetables for the dining hall, but there’re some flowers there also.
The other night, when it was almost dark, I heard some quiet talking, almost conspiratorial. Nice word, eh? Usually no one goes back there. So when I heard voices, my detective mind (detective-in-training actually) became alert to the situation.
It was two of the kitchen people. She had on a summer like dress all fluffy at the bottom and he was wearing pants that looked grey from a distance but, I knew from seeing them in the caf, they were black and white checked. His shirt was one of those worn by a chef, white and looking official. Does food taste better when they wear the uniform? Or maybe it makes us, seeing them dressed properly, subconsciously believe that they do wash after using the restroom.
Anyway, they were there in the garden and I had a perfect view since our dorm windows are big and old and without screens. You may think that this is a disadvantage, not having screens on your windows, but it makes it a whole lot easier for shouting, throwing stuff, and barfing.
If I had better writing skills, maybe I would have written a poem about it. The sun was turning the sky scarlet and it was not very light in the shadow of the trees where the garden was and the girl, or woman, probably woman, was nice looking. You know, a good shape. But she was old—maybe twenty-five, twenty-eight. And the guy was digging or pulling carrots or cabbages from the ground and she was holding her skirt out like a tray to hold the things he picked. They were smiling and her laugh was good. Well, it was “musical.”
I was glad to see that. It made me happy. They probably spend their whole lives in the kitchen and now they were enjoying our great weather. Yes, it’s a great room.
Chapter 14
First Séance
OK, we’re ready to go. It’s Tuesday night and Prof Palma is in the car with me waiting for the lovely LaMonica sisters. We thought, actually Prof P thought, we’d look like an interested group. He would be the uncle or cousin or something and we would be brother and sisters concerned about our dead relative—mom or aunt or someone dear. As usual, they were running late, they always were. They came out of the dorm quickly, quietly talking to each other, carrying purses which were larger than their usual ones. “Good evening Professor, Ralphy,” and, without a word, they climbed into the back seat of the old Jaguar. He took off after the door was closed.
“I suppose that we have to do this, I mean we’ll never find that darn bowl if we don’t do this, this séance,” Veronica said with Monica nodding in agreement. “We’ll do it but we’d rather not.”
I said, “What’s the big deal,” and Veronica, the older and wiser, said, “Nothing is a big deal for boys,” and then she clammed up.
Nothing was said for the rest of the ride to Madame Petrovsky’s. When we arrived, Prof P said, “All right, here’s how we’ll do it. There will be others there besides us so we’ll try to blend in. We’ll sit together, and keep our eyes open, see if there is any connection with Madame Petrovsky and Beems or anyone who has an interest in the bowl, understood? Remember, blend in; don’t do anything that will draw attention to you. We’re here to learn about these people.”
Everyone nodded. The LaMonicas were abnormally quiet. They usually have a million comments to make and now tonight they’re quiet. Maybe some of our good masculine traits have worn off on them by our working together.
Our arrival was greeted by a light grey-suited aide to Madame Petrovsky, kinda spooky, who directed us to the parlor on the right of the foyer. I could smell incense as I walked and heard low music playing—elevator music. The house was old, the walls were painted almost white, and the furniture was big and dark.
Monica asked nervously, “OK, where is the changing room, ah, the ladies room?” He said: “Straight ahead, past the stairway. Please join the rest of the guests in the main room which is to the left of the parlor.” Veronica turned and said, “You guys don’t look nervous, it must be different for you.” I looked at the Professor and he looked at me and shrugged his shoulders. They left, slumping forward, their big purses slung over their shoulders on their way to the washroom, looking to all like condemned prisoners on their way to the gas chamber.
We followed the assistant into the main room which was set up like a dining room. A round table with a white table cloth was in the middle of the room, under a crystal chandler which barely lit the room. There were three white candles on the table. After a few moments our eyes were used to the light and we could see our fellow guests. Two couples, one in their early twenties who looked like they thought that this was going to be a hoot, and the other couple, old, in their thirties, who looked serious, like this was something important, something to take seriously.
Introductions were made by our guide and then it happened. The LaMonicas returned from the rest room. Veronica led the two of them into the room. They both were dragging their big purses. The professor almost fell out of his chair. He looked at them and exclaimed, slowly, pausing after each word. “Oh—my—God! Girls, what happened?”
There they stood. With their bags pressed to the fronts of their bodies, naked underneath. Two gorgeous twenty year old girls without a stitch on. Being the youngest and the longest since I had, well, you know. It was impossible not to stare. To compare this one’s that with her sister’s. I was having a hard time breathing. The two couples turned to see what caused the professor’s comments and the women quickly turned back to the table with a “well, I never,” look, and their spouses or significant others tried not to stare but couldn’t manage it. They both finally turned back to the table when I saw the women that they were with give each a hard elbow to the ribs. I was trying to be mature and pretend that this occurred in my sophisticated life daily but I couldn’t keep my eyes off of them. This entrance and viewing took no more than three seconds.
“Isn’t this the way that seances are held? We read up on this,” Monica said while trying to cover herself.
“You idiot Monica,” Veronica said as she turned and placed her big purse over her bum and stormed out of the room. Monica quickly ran after her, similarly covered.
The Prof leaned into me and murmured, “So much for low profile.” I nodded in agreement.
It was awkward for a few minutes while we all tried to act as if nothing had happened.
Five minutes later, Veronica appeared at the door, now fully clothed, and said, “We’ll wait in the car,” and rushed to join her sister in the hallway who was carrying the two p
urses.
Madame Petrovsky, who had missed the whole show, walked in wearing on her ample body a floor length black gown with some kind of shawl around her neck. She must have thought that we all appeared anxious because of the pending visit to the spirit world. It wasn’t that but the show that preceded that caused her customers to be perked up and so attentive—especially us red blooded males.
After introductions, we sat quietly for a minute, then we all joined hands. I was holding onto Prof P on my left and on my right, I held onto the woman from the serious couple. She did not look like fun. All she needed was one of those pointed black hats and a broom and she could hold her own in the magic world.
We were asked who we wanted to contact when the Prof called for reservations. I guess that was so they could go on the net to departed-spirits-dot-com and find out all of the things that would impress us and make us think that this wasn’t fake. Am I cynical? I’m too young to be cynical. But the key work here is bogus—high bogosity.
We started with the serious woman’s departed loved one, her husband. OK, then who was this guy with her tonight and did that make him feel good? Here he is, right next to her, and she prefers a dead guy. Go figure.
“We will now ask for Donald to make his presence known,” Mrs. Petrovsky said. She sat between the two younger folks, I believe, trying to split them up for the purpose of maintaining a non-giggling atmosphere. “Beloved Donald, we ask that you commune with us and walk among us. Please, everyone, say along with me: ‘Beloved Donald, we ask that you commune with us and walk among us.’”
We did that maybe five or six times, and then we stopped. After a long minute of silence, the chandelier blinked. It was so slight that I wanted to ask the Professor if he saw it too. Nice touch, not gaudy like trumpets floating around or the table rising. I thought that it was cool—phony but cool.
Mrs. Petrovsky said with a quivering voice, “He is amongst us. What do you wish to know?”
I could feel the lady on my right squeeze me tighter when the light flickered. Now I could feel her hand sweating after Mrs. Petrovsky’s question.
“Ask him how he is,” she said.